The Illusion of Certainty

I was thrown a pretty serious curveball yesterday. Not super fun.

I’m sure you’ve been thrown some pretty nasty curveballs in your life, as well. We all know that the pitcher doesn’t always throw the ball straight over the center of home plate. Sometimes the ball looks like it’s going to be way outside, then drops into the strike zone at the last minute, baffling the hitter. The curveball is one of the most difficult pitches to hit because you just don’t know where it’s going

Likewise, you and I know that life doesn’t always go as planned—we don’t have any idea where it’s going. But there’s something inside of us that loves to cling to certainty, so that we don’t feel life is as out-of-control as it probably is. I guess I’ve been doing some clinging, and now it’s time for some letting go.

Sorry, I’m being vague—it’s work related (nothing to do with my music stuff). But it’s unclear the full ramifications, so I can’t explain with much detail. But this much is true: this news really stinks. It’s like having a giant smelly bag of uncertainty placed into my lap: Ok, now let’s see how you deal with it.

The only certain thing in life is change.

I’ve been here before. I’ve had relationships end out of the blue. I’ve had “solid” jobs end in a brief moment upon coming to work. People die. Cars wreck. And doors are shut just as fast as they are opened. Now what? we ask.

That’s when we get to decide how we’re going to respond—perhaps this is the only thing in life we can control.

In life, nothing is promised. Nothing is certain. Yet, I keep looking for little markers of certainty to cling to, to reassure myself that I’m not being irresponsible or reckless, that maybe I’m doing life right. A blog on Farnam Street titled “Certainty is an Illusion” offers this: We all try to avoid uncertainty, even if it means being wrong. We take comfort in certainty, and we demand it of others, even when we know it's impossible.

¹

I sure try not to demand certainty of others, but I probably do. And I hope I’m not wrong about things I believe to be true or right. But I know I can’t be 100% perfect with any of this. Still, I like to believe I’m mostly prepared for whatever might happen in the future, having already run through many possible scenarios in my mind. If this happens, then I can do that, etc.

The book Uncertainty: How It Makes Science Advance states, “People strive for certainty due to an inherent desire for it. Uncertainty seems to be stressful in the same unconscious manner as anger and fear. We cannot really control this feeling, and we feel relaxed only when we feel certain about what we know or about what we should anticipate.”

²

That’s why practicing a conversation beforehand is super helpful—you know what you’re wanting to say, and how you’re going to say it. Same with music: practicing allows me to feel more confident about my performance.

I also try to coat my life with generous amounts of faith. Faith is an underlying belief that whatever happens to me will not destroy me, but instead, might offer something of value—that may or may not be revealed. Even the randomness of life can contains meaning and significance, beauty and goodness, even if my first reaction is to feel sad, hurt, or angry.

That might sound kinda nebulous, but for me, it’s helpful. It basically lets me get up in the morning and say, “No matter what happens to me, I’m gonna be ok. And maybe even better than ok.”

But today it stings. And that’s ok, too. I’m gonna let it sting for a while. I want to acknowledge the fear and anxiety this news stirs up, before I try to whisk it away with new ideas and being busy.

I want to keep surrendering the illusion of certainty that creeps in from time to time, remembering it’s the uncertainty of life that keeps things interesting. It’s a grand adventure where you don’t know what or who is around the next corner.

In his book, Risk Savvy: How to Make Good Decisions, Gerd Gigerenzer says that life would be pretty dull without uncertainty.

If we knew everything about the future with certainty, our lives would be drained of emotion. No surprise and pleasure, no joy or thrill— we knew it all along. The first kiss, the first proposal, the birth of a healthy child would be about as exciting as last year’s weather report. If our world ever turned certain, life would be mind-numbingly dull.

Our reactions to what happens to us might be automatic—like the ick I’m feeling right now. But our responses to what happens to us are something we can still have control over, even while the whole world seems out of control.

The biggest mystery in life is what’s going to happen next. I can’t wait to see what it is.

1. Farnam Street, “Certainty is an Illusion,” https://fs.blog/certainty-is-an-illusion/

2. “The Psychology of (Un)Certainty,” Oxford Academic, https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780190871666.003.0002